


Isle Full of Noises

by Arya_Greenleaf



Series: Twitter Fic [19]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Face-Sitting, Gags, Light Dom/sub, Other: See Story Notes, Spit Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-14 18:52:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18058091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: A lazy Saturday morning is spoiled by devastating news from Kylo's literary agent. Hux comforts her in an innovative way.





	Isle Full of Noises

**Author's Note:**

> Endnote for mildly spoilerly trigger warning re: canon typical behavior
> 
> Tagged for light dom/sub content bc thats kind of what it looks like, and the things they use kind of fall into that category traditionally, but this isnt a dom/sub story, that's not really the relationship they have.
> 
> [Click for an astonishing (and spoilery) painting by hedge of Kylo in this piece](https://mobile.twitter.com/st_hedge/status/1106642955400552448)

Hux is dozing on the couch, wasting the morning watching some shitty live-audience cooking show. The cast is obnoxious and the food is questionable at best. The show seems never ending. It's Saturday, though, there isn't really much alternative.

The weather outside is strange. It's sunny but it's wet. It's unseasonably warm but the temperature is due to drop again overnight. The neighborhood seems to be taking advantage while it can. People have been outside with children and pets and bikes and skateboards from the first moment that it was socially acceptable to do so.

Kylo disappeared somewhere around the time that Hux was waking up. She'd knocked softly on Hux's bedroom door and asked to borrow her car -- Kylo's is still chirping about low tire pressure and she can't be bothered to go over to the gas station and fuss over the free air pump. Whether Kylo thinks it's beneath her or she doesn't want to have to interact with the crowd of people likely trying to figure out how it works now that the sub-zero temperatures have subsided are equally likely.

Kylo comes through the door like a tornado, arms laden with packages, during the _It's five o'clock somewhere_! segment. "Don't get up and help or anything, I've got it!"

Hux slouches back down, having started to rise, at the snotty remark. "Alright, I won't."

She watches Kylo struggle with the door, finally getting it shut after freeing the knob from the loop of a bag on her wrist. She puts all of her packages down -- cloth shopping bags slumping and spilling cans and round things out onto the floor -- and juggles an awkward-sized box in the crook of one arm.

An orange makes its lazy way across the livingroom and Hux stops it with her fuzzy-socked toe. "What the hell are you wearing?" she asks as Kylo slips her jacket off to hang in the front hall.

"Clothing, obviously."

"Kylo, it's the middle of _winter_."

The shorts she's wearing are far better suited to the middle of July. "What? It's warm today."

"Its fifty degrees out, that's not warm."

"I'm not bare-legged or anything; I'm not that vapid." Kylo tugs at the faded leggings under the shorts.

She looks fit for an Instagram photoshoot with her oversized sweater and large round sunglasses. Hux imagines she might call her followers by some pseudo-adorable name and encourage them to use an overly punny hashtag on their aesthetic style posts. Kylo would hate the comparison. It is perhaps why the notion entertains Hux for a fleeting moment.

"Are you trying to catch your death?" Hux asks and picks the orange up off the floor.

Kylo tells her not to be dramatic. "Just because you're cold all the time doesn't mean the rest of us are."

She's snippy, something's wrong. She was perfectly cheery when she left -- and through the string of messages about what Hux might want to eat for the week.

Hux helps her lug her bags to the kitchen and stows things in the pantry closet while Kylo loads the fridge.

"Have you eaten yet?" Kylo asks. Hux hasn't, wasn't particularly inclined to. "Will you make pancakes? Mine are always ugly."

Hux puts Kylo to work mixing the batter while she makes a proper pot of tea. There is a heaviness that hangs around her that feels something like the air just before a thorough downpour.

They trade and Kyko sulks silently over her steaming mug at the kitchen island while Hux cranks out a tower of perfectly round, golden pancakes on the stove. She sets the tower down in front of Kylo and buys time getting plates and forks.

Kylo certainly isn't helpless but she makes no move to help.

Hux bustles around her, shoving the butter dish toward her and then warmed syrup from the microwave. Hux watches her serve herself, piling fluffy cakes onto her plate and methodically layering them with butter and syrup.

Kylo still hasn't taken her sunglasses off. The cuffs of her sweater are pulled low on her hands. Her hair looks unbrushed; not well brushed at the very leasr. She's the picture that appears in a Wikipedia entry for _spoilt brat._

Hux fixes her own plate and then finally tries to break the silence. "You're going to wreck your sleeves."

In the light that peeks in through the window over the sink, Hux can see Kylo's lashes flick up. She sets her fork down and pokes her thumb through a hole she's already worn in one cuff.

"Alright," Hux sighs, "I'll bite, what's wrong?"

Instead of answering, Kylo tops off her tea and dumps the remaining syrup on her pancakes. She shoves a chunk into her mouth and chews furiously for a minute. The fluffy cakes have gone totally mush with syrup. Hux can't reason it's at all pleasant.

"Kylo," Hux says, soft and firm. "How am I supposed to adequately commiserate with you if I haven't got a clue what you're on about?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Kylo's phone chirps and she digs it out from her shorts pocket. They're so tight, Hux really doesn't understand how she's fit the phone in there at all. Kylo pulls the ugliest face Hux has ever seen her make when she looks at the notification and chucks the phone across the short space from the island to the counter.

Hux can only imagine that something offensive has happened in the group chat Kylo clings to every word of. She professes that the odd little group of snobs are her only friends, that they are the only people in the world who truly understand her.

Hux knows it's not true, knows how they test her will and her patience. She's better than the lot of them -- Kylo knows it and so do they -- so they do their damnedest to keep her on their level.

"Fine, don't tell me."

"It's none of your business."

"Fine."

" _Fine_."

They eat in relative silence.

When Kylo's plate is empty, no pancakes left to soak up the sticky puddle of syrup still there, she drags her finger across and licks it. Hux is sure that Kylo does this almost expressly to irritate her. It is perhaps a little presumptive to think so. She's witnessed Kylo's sister behaving in much the same way. A disgusting family habit, to be sure.

Kylo glares at the countertop like it has grown a mouth and said something obscene.

"I thought pancakes would help," she grumbles.

"I'm sorry, I ran out of magic _cure-Kylo's-mood_ powder. I only had _baking_ powder, unfortunately."

Kylo blushes a pretty pink and finally takes her sunglasses off. Her eyes are puffy, mascara smeared _just_ so.

"It's the book."

"So you do want to talk about it, then."

"Absoutely not."

"Kylo, will you -- " Hux stops.

Kylo's face screws up with rage and she sucks in breath. Her eyes glitter with fresh, unfallen tears. Something thrums in Hux's chest, deep and inarticulate. She does not press.

"Will you tell me what's in the box, then?"

Kylo releases a shaky breath and tips back on her stool to reach the cutlery drawer. She falls back into place with a dinner knife in her hand and Hux cringes. Kylo drags the box closer and sets to work slicing all of the packing tape open.

"It's a mystery toy box." Kylo says, sniffling softly and hiding behind the flap of the lid. "It's for me, but I _suppose_ if you like them you're welcome to it."

Hux thinks of the painstakingly detailed collection of dolls displayed on the top of the bookcase in Kylo's bedroom. They are like a small army, dead-eyed and quiet, waiting to spring to life upon command. Kylo snuffles and rubs her nose until it's pink. Ah, yes, Hux thinks, terrifying queen of the underworld -- commander of porcelain legions.

Hux is decidedly uninterested. But if it means the difference between a Kylo who is crying and one who is not, Hux will humor her.

"Ugh, come on, all of this packaging is totally unnecessary. So much for sustainability. That part of their mission statement is an outright lie."

Hot pink, glittery white, and dark purple layers of tissue paper spill out of the box. Kylo rumages and picks out a postcard that she scans and sets aside. Hux still can't see the contents but whatever they are has Kylo snorting and amused. Hux picks the card up to read.

_Hey, babe! Fun and fantasy await inside your very own New Adventures Box. Our latest mystery box is curated with curiosity in mind and holds an array of goodies sure to please whether you're playing solo or with a partner (or two ;D )._

Hux is thoroughly confused for several heartbeats.

"Jolt gel," Kylo mutters with a measure of distain. "That's going in the trash."

Hux turns the box so she can see inside while Kylo is going through it. It's certainly _not_ the toys she assumed.

Hux is both relieved and a little embarrassed. Not that there's a box full of sex toys, but that she was naive enough to assume otherwise.

Kylo laughs and pulls a riding crop from the paper, little heart-shaped leather keeper on one end. "Well that's adorable."

The box is quite full. Fledgling adventure does seem to be the name of the game. There is a set of velcro cuffs, a harness and a set of very studiously unphallic dildos -- graduated plugs -- more little silver sachets of lubricants and gels -- a cutesy blindfold to match the crop -- a pair of dice with prompts on them -- a variety of barriers.

Kylo grins and holds up a large plastic blister package. "That could be fun," she says nonchalantly.

She slides off her stool and grabs the shears out of the drainboard to hack at the plastic with. When it's finally open she dangles the ball gag inside from its buckle on the end of her index finger. "That could be very fun."

The phone Kylo abandoned on the counter lights up, a shrill ringtone echoing against granite and tile. "Shit," Kylo grumbles, dropping the gag back into the box. "That's my agent, I can't ignore it."

Hux nods and steps away from the island. She gathers their dishes as she moves."I'm going out to have a smoke," she says, dropping them into the sink.

From the livin groom she can hear Kylo answer the phone, waiting nearly until it transfers over to voicemail before she does.

Hux drags the blanket off the couch and wraps herself with it. In the front hall she digs her cigarettes out of her coat pocket and shoves her feet into her boots. The porch seat is still clear from last night, no new snow or rain blown onto it. Hux shivers for a moment as she settles in, the wooden slats cold against her back and thighs.

She takes her time with the cigarette. It's a rare treat. Not the smoking itself, but the particular implement with which she has chosen to destroy her lungs. Technically, Hux guesses, it's a cigar. If it were a cigarette it would be a criminal act to purchase and enjoy the sweet burn of clove in the back of her throat.

Hux doesn't buy them often -- they're stupidly overpriced and difficult to find, for one. For two, they make her tongue numb and her heart feel like it's going to flop right out of her chest.

Hux waves to a passing neighbor and watches the slow progress of the postworker parked at the far end of the block. She imagines herself a lord, keeping hawkish watch over her land and lady. Or is it the other way around?

Hux thinks about the box in the kitchen while she smokes. None of it looked particularly interesting. She's not overly fond of being penetrated, though not entirely opposed to it. Hux likes fingers -- she likes Kylo's fingers. Thick and warm and responsive to direction just like the rest of her. Kylo gives her what she wants and only what she wants. She doesn't test Hux's boundaries just for the sake of testing them -- for the sake of her own wants. She gives herself.

Hux guesses, she might let Kylo try. She cringes a little at the notion of strapping herself into the harness instead. The picture in her head doesn't quite feel right. Maybe.

The cuffs looked soft and comfortable, they may be fun to use. Hux isn't sure in either case if Kylo means to be the one trussed up and fucked or the other way around.

She's sure she won't be able to keep any kind of straight face where that silly crop or the blindfold are involved. Hux laughs to herself thinking of Kylo's wide mouth closed around the rubbery ball of the gag. She would probably try to talk around the damn thing. If there is one thing Kylo is most fond of in the world, it's the sound of her own voice when she gives her own opinion.

The box seems designed particularly to give Kylo a reason to assert her opinion.

Hux savors the last bit of her cigarette-cigar- _whatever_. Her heart is fluttering and she feels like she is breathing too deeply and too shallow at the same time. Her head swims pleasantly. She's never smoked anything more illegal than this and she wonder if this might be what that feels like.

She stubbs the end of the thing in the ugly ceramic dish she keeps hidden under the seat. She needs to empty it but she won't bring it in the house and the garbage cans out the side are buried in a foot of ice. The refuse of her bad habits can stay hidden a little while longer.

As the hazy cloud of smoke is dissipating the post carrier makes their cautious way up the front walk and clonks up the steps to the porch. They smile a greeting and ask Hux if she would prefer they put the mail in the box beside the door or if she wants it. She takes it and thanks them, bids them a day free of icy pavement.

They head back toward the sidewalk and Hux sorts absently through the thick stack of bills and letters and catalogues. Hux is browsing the newsletter from Kylo's alma mater when she's startled nearly out of her skin by a series of noises.

First, a loud thump -- a crash like something has shattered -- finally a shriek that makes Hux's already fluttering heart jump into her throat.

She drops the mail and jumps out of her seat. The ash tray tumbles to the floor with a dense thud and Hux dives for the door. There is another shattering sound -- and another, heavier, thicker -- as she yanks the door open and runs inside.

"Kylo? Kylo!"

Outlandish, worst-case scenarios fill her still floating head. Someone has broken in, hopped the fence in the back and snuck in through the side door. They've come to carry Kylo off, to force her back out into the sun and bring the Spring, unsatisfied with her brief foray into the warm weather.

Hux skids into the kitchen, ready to tear eyelids and kick shins. "Kylo!"

A mug full of tea hurtles across the kitchen, sailing through the air.

"What the fuck!"

The mug shatters against the cabinets in a shower of ceramic and cloudy tea. Hux skuttles around the island.

"Hey! _Hey_!"

Kylo's hand closes around Hux's mug and winds back to throw it, her aim at the window a little too sure. Hux's boots cruch over broken dishes already on the floor. She grabs Kylo's wrist with both hands and tugs her down.

"That's mine! What the _fuck_ is wrong with you!"

Its a stupid mug. A cheap one. The edge is chipped. But it is Hux's and she will not see Kylo smash it.

Cold tea sloshes over Hux's hands she soaks into her sleeves as she yanks the mug out of Kylo's hand. She places it back down on the island, just out of reach. An arm up as if to shield herself, she shouts, "What the absolute fuck is your problem?"

Kylo sucks in a breath that fills her chest and her abdomen. She is so full of air and rage, Hux imagines her belly must be straining against the impossibly tight waistband of her shorts.

"The fucking book! _My_ book! My work! All of _me_ between two fucking covers! That's what's my fucking problem!" Her face has gone red as a roasted beet. Her mascara has melted into the angry heat that radiates from her cheeks and given her a smokey mask.

"You need to get a hold of yourself, Kylo." Hux says as calmly as she can. "Get outof the kitchen, at the very fucking least."

Kylo looks like she's searching for something else to throw. Her eyes scan the countertops wildly and her chest heaves. Finally, she steps out from behind the island. Its almost an afterthought, it seems, when she sweeps the shipping box still open on the counter and all of its variable contents onto the floor.

Colored tissue paper flutters through the air like giant, drunken butterflies. Smaller boxes and plastic packaging crashes and crunches as it hits the floor. Kylo steps over the chaos, long legs carrying her away in a few strides. She pounds up the stairs like she's going to stomp her way through them. Hux jumps, startled but unsurprised when Kylo's bedroom door slams shut.

The kitchen is a disaster zone. Syrup-covered hunks of china litter the floor near the sink like abstract art pizza slices. The vintage Pyrex teapot that heats water to just the right temperature for steeping, is shattered over the flat range of the stove and the counter beside it in a rain of tiny, near invisible shards and large pieces.The parts of Kylo's mug are there too -- sticky, milky tea stains over the surrounding surfaces. On the far side of the island there is fruit lying in the remains of the ugly dish that it usually lives in at the center of the island.

Hux is... _mad_.

Seethingly so. She cannot imagine what could possibly have happened or been said to make Kylo fly off the handle like this.

Kylo is capricious -- mercurial, even. She is selfish and self-centered. She thinks herself better than most others in many ways -- sometimes justified, often only in her own opinion. She is prone to flights of fancy and she is physical in her passions -- denying herself sustenance and sleep, pushing herself too far in her short stints at the gym, erasing holes through stacks of paper or shredding them to bits, throwing entire thumb drives literally in the trash -- but she isn't _destructive_.

Not beyond the confines of herself.

Hux cannot pinpoint her own anger. Perhaps, she thinks, it is the culmination of her annoyance at Kylo's sour, nearly childish mood since arriving back home.

Hux picks her way carefully across the floor and fetches the broom and dust pan from the cupboard under the stairs. She sweeps diligently, dumping the destroyed dishes into the garbage can and wiping syrup and tea away from where they cling to countertops and cabinetry and floor tile.

Hux is glad that the fruit dish was heavy pottery when she finally makes her way to that side of the kitchen. She dumps ths large pieces and finds a place for the bruised fruit.

Finally all that's left is Kylo's box of frivolity. Hux tosses the box back together haphazardly and kicks it across the floor -- through the dining room -- and into the living room, taking some small measure of her anger out on the corner of the mailer with with heavy toe of her boot.

She can hear Kylo upstairs, the vague sound of her pacing the floor in her room. Hux throws herself down on the couch for a moment.

"Shit!" she hisses as the television flicks back to life.

She leaps back up and out onto the porch to hastily gather up the mail fluttering over the boards and speared through the ice-crusted lawn by the steadily increasingly breeze. Hux hefts her abandoned blanket and the mail back inside.

The house is quiet, the movement upstairs ceased. She's still annoyed. She can't go up the stairs, not yet. She's still simmering, stomach in knots and itching for another cigarette.

She tunes into whatever is playing on television -- a decades old episode of some cooking competition show by the looks of it. It's after the defending champion is declared the winner once again that Hux decides she really should check on Kylo.

It's been quiet for far too long. Hux stares up at the ceiling, willing Kylo to move -- to offer some sign of life. She sighs and gets up, knees crackling, and pushes the mailing box with her foot toward the stairs. It's not out of kindness or or some olive branch ploy that she hefts ths thing under her arm andcarries it up the stairs. Hux doesn't want to look at them. Not now. Not that any potential mood between them has been throughly quashed.

"Kylo," she calls, rapping on the bedroom door with her knuckles. "I'm coming in."

The room is dark, of course, and why wouldn't it be? The whole house is like a very prettily decorated tomb. Kylo is curled on her bed, her broad back to the door.

Hux pads inside, oddly afraid to break the heavy silence of the room. She sits carefully on the edge of the bed, sinking on the mattress a little. She drops the box on the floor, glad for the plush pile of the area rug.

"I cleaned the kitchen."

"Thank you," Kylo mumbles.

"Are you going to tell me? I think you owe it to me at this point."

Kylo draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "They've ruined my book."

"How can they possibly have ruined it?"

"My poem -- _the_ poem, the one that's going to make all of my work come _together_. They want to _cut it_."

Hux opens and closes her mouth like a suffocating fish. She's not sure how to respond. Kylo spent weeks on that piece -- she disappeared into the attic office for days without emerging.

Hux couldn't sleep the night Kylo finally read it to her. It was beautiful and haunting and disturbing. Hux couldn't get comfortable in bed for the persistent chill it left her with.

"Who exactly wants it cut?"

"My editor. She thinks it's too explicit to sell. And since it was basically a last minute addition that it won't effect the flow of the book to let it go. She's _insistent_ on sending it to press without it."

"But it's _your_ book, not her's. How can that possibly fly?"

"Editors have more power than you realize, babe. Rejection, overhaul, marketing potential... that's all in their hands. She says my poem will alienate my audience and drive down sales. It has to go."

The way Hux understood it, that was the core of Kylo's brand, to make her reader uncomfortable, to alienate them, to upset them. "Push back then, you still have time, don't you?"

"Not really. If I dont let it go, then she's going to drop me. If she drops me then I have to repay my advance. And I don't know if I'll be able to take the book elsewhere. There's no point, anyway, my agent did some snooping. She managed to get a voter from the Poetry Society to spill their guts."

"And?"

"I'm not going to be considered for the _Quartets_ or anything else. They think my work is in poor taste -- tired, recycled. Cheap. Shock value drivel with pretty endpapers."

Hux reaches out and stops, hand hovering over Kylo's shoulder. Her pull is magnetic. Looking at her curled up on the mattress as she is, is like trying to look at a black hole. Nothing reflects -- she absorbs everuthing without mercy. To observe her safely, you have to observe the pull of her on everything else -- to watch the lensing of all the luminescence that tries to touch her.

Hux feels her. The gravity of her, of what's happening to her. She's afraid of falling in.

"I hardly think your work is any of that."

"Good, let's get you on the voting comittee then."

Kylo snuffles, pressing herself closer to the mattress to hide the sound of it. Hux finally touches her, fingers moving inone long stroke aceoss her back.

"You can't always get what you want, sweet."

"Fuck you. Fuck that." Kylo turns over. Her body uncoils and shifts and coils again. She wraps her arms around Hux's waist -- face pressed against her hip -- knees bracketing against her thigh. "Today was supposed to be a good day."

"Mm."

"I was going to make you dinner."

"You only cook for me when you want something."

"Oh, I wanted something."

"Something to do with that ridiculous box?"

"Not necessarily."

Hux combs through Kylo's hair, fingers getting stuck in knots. Hux has to give her credit for the seamless change of subject. She wonders if Kylo is embarrassed; if that's why she so readily walked away. She's see Kylo pout, seen her lick her metaphorical wounds; but she's never seen her embarrassed -- ashamed.

"You can't always get what you want," Hux repeats, laughing.

"But if I try sometimes," Kylo singsongs. Her breath tickles against Hux's waist, Kylo's nose sneakily pushing her sweater up. "You mean to say you'd let me _starve_?"

"Have you talked to your people?" Kylo makes a confused sound. Hux tenses, Kylo's teeth closing gently on the frugal but of flesh on her side. "Your knights of the round table -- what do they have to say about all of this?"

Kylo is silent for a long moment. "They can never know."

"Why not? Aren't they supposed to be your most trusted advisors or something?"

Kylo sits up abruptly, palms planted against the mattress to hold herself up. When she looks at Hux, she is haunted. One eye has been copletrly smudged, mascara forgotten and carelessly rubbed in a greasy cloud.The other less-so, as if it had been more teary, a heavily stained tear-track over the wide, creamy expanse of her cheek.

"I will be _ruined_ if they ever know."

"That's impossible, Kylo, who the hell are they? A bunch of nobodies." She swings her arm out to indicate the denslypacked bookcase on the far side of the room. "Is there a single volume of theirs on that shelf?"

Kylo takes a deep breath, readying for retaliation.

"Not counting the anthology -- fucking hell, that's all you as well anyway."

Kylo sits up fully then, nearly knocking Hux over as she moves. Up on her knees, chest thrown forward defiantly and arms gesturing wildly, Kylo enumerates the many reasons her cohorts have power -- have the power to ruin her -- have influence in her community.

"They know who I am. They know exactly what to say, who to speak to, to bring me down. It's not even about tanking my sales. It's my integrity as an artist that's at stake. My entire image is so carefully crafted, if they -- "

Hux stops listening. She lets Kylo's rage flow over her like river too full from a storm. She stands, tired of the spittle flying against her face and Kylo's increasing volume. She's transformed from a black hole into a red giant. She's shedding fuel at an exhausting rate, getting ready to condense once more before she explodes.

As Hux steps away from the bed she nearly trips over the open box on the floor, planting her foot right into it between the boxes of silicone insertables.

Kylo runs out of steam for a moment, coughing almost violently before she revs up again.

"Shut up," Hux hisses.

"Excuse me?" Kylo's expression is frozen between surprise and offense in an comical smear of wide eyes and opened mouth.

"Either fight for your -- your vision, your art -- whatever -- or don't. Tell your editor to shove it or swallow your fucking pride. Pick one!"

"It is  _not_ that simple." Kylo wipes at her mouth, frothing in her redirected anger. "You have no idea how it feels to have everything you've worked for picked apart by -- "

"I have no idea? Did you really just say that?"

Kylo freezes, realizing too late what she's said. "Hux, it's _different_ \-- "

"Stop talking, Kylo."

"Or what?" she spits.

Hux stumbles, yanking her foot out of the box and shiving it away. The buckle of the stupid ball gag catches on the fabric of her leggings. "Or I will make you be quiet," she whispers. Hux bends down and moves the gag. The buckle snags, pulling a loop of thread out from the legging. "You can't always have whag you want, Kylo, that is  _not_ how the world works. Let it be published or not."

The angry red flush of Kylo's face has cooled. Her cheeks stay rosy, watching Hux. "How will you make me be quiet?"

Hux swallows. "Open your mouth."

"Somehow that seems a little counterintuitive, Hux."

Hux can help but laugh. It is counterintuitive. And completely absurd. "Open," she says in the most serious tone she can muster.

Kylo opens her mouth and regards Hux from under her heavy lashes. Hux lifts the heavy silicone ball to her lips. Kylo closes her eyes and laughs softly against it. Her breath is hot against Hux's fingers. She opens her mouth a little wider and the ball slides against her teeth. They stay there -- Kylo kneeling on the bed, Hux standing with her knees against it, her hand settled on Kylo's waist -- just breathing.

All of the volatile passion between them disappates, the high velocity solar winds of their binary system dying -- the Homunculus Nebula burnt out -- the tempest calmed.

"How does that feel?"

Kylo nods, breathing heavily through her nose.

"Should I close it? Put it around -- I mean..."

Kylo nods again. The shells of her ears are exposed when Hux pulls the strap around Kylo's head, her hair flattened by it. They are red and hot. Hux fastens the buckle and holds Kylo's head in her hands for a moment.

"Alright?"

Kylo nods.

"Stay here."

Hux ducks out of the room, the soft whine Kylo makes echoing in her head. Out in the hall it feels like there's more air; like she can think more clearly. She stands there feeling foolish, like she's ridden a rollercoaster a dozen times and her head has been knocked around by too much G-force. Kylo makes another soft sound. Hux realizes she's just been standing there, just beyond the door, doing nothing but looking catatonic.

Hux turns on her heel and walks back in. Kylo had plans for the day before the whole thing went belly-up.

Kylo watches Hux from the bed while she hesitates in the middle of the rug. There's saliva gathering in the corners of her mouth that she doesn't seem to notice.

Hux acts on impulse, hardly aware of what her body is doing. She pulls her sweater over her head and struggles out of her too-tight sports bra. She peels down her leggings and kicks them aside.

Kylo's eyes are wide and bright. She sways just slightly on her knees.

Hux takes a deep breath. She feels more naked than she actually is, the protective layer of her personality burned away under Kylo's gaze. She bends at the waist, pulling off her underwear without ceremony.

She can't bring herself to take off her socks, her toes get too cold too fast.

Hux swallows. "Lie down."

Kylo starts to lift her own sweater over her head, eager and clumsy.

"No, just lie down."

Kylo sits, dropping from her knees like a sack of potatoes. Hux puts a tentative hand on the mattress and leans in. Kylo speaks, words distorted behind the ball and her frozen jaw. She is visibly mortified by the saliva that bubbles out from the corners of her stretched lips. Hux climbs up, trying to be fluid in it and sure she only looks silly. She swipes her fingers through the spit, rubbing it across Kylo's chin and wetting the outside of the ball.

"Lie down."

Kylo does.

Hux climbs over her, straddling her chest and holding Kylo's arms down with her shins. She works saliva forward on her tongue and lifts it off with a pass of her fingers -- strokes them carefully into her cunt.

"If you can't use your damn mouth to speak up for yourself, then you can't use it at all."

Hux purses her lips and crinkles her nose. She doesn't like how any of that sounds. She looks down at Kylo, unsure. Hux shouldn't be surprised, later she'll shiver and enjoy the fleeting memory of Kylo's eager little nod and the flutter of her lashes against the high point of her cheeks.

Kylo watches Hux touch herself -- fingers wet, sliding against her vulva and into her slit -- quick little dips inside, first one then two -- Hux holds her breath -- and her tit, crushing peachy-pink flesh against her palm -- she strokes herself, hummingbird fast -- until she is gasping and trembling and  _so close._

Hux pants, reciting the names of the Local Group galaxies in her head -- spirals, then elliptical, then irregular -- to pull herself back from the edge.

Kylo is flushed _so_ pink, a delicate sweat broken on her forehead. Hux curls herself over, the better to look Kylo right in the eye. She can feel her own heartbeat between her legs, her body tight as a bowstring and wanting so badly to be plucked. 

Kylo shifts beneath her, nearly knocking Hux over to free her arms. She pitches her hips up and tears at the fly of her shorts.

"No," Hux says firmly, a dark thing growing in her chest -- black hole blooming and grappling with the pull of the one already in the room -- gravities compatible and destructive at once -- infinite density. "No."

Hux twists and grabs at Kylo's hands while she tries to shove them down between her skin and the layers of her leggings and shorts. Hux places them on her hips like she is giving Kylo some magnanimous gift.

"Keep them there."

Kylo's nostrils flare. She makes a frustrated, angry sound behind the gag, pushing yet more saliva out of the tiny available space. Hux holds her chin tenderly, holding her still -- and adds to it. Hux purses her lips and lets it fall, a fat drop that hangs for infinitesimal seconds before the filament snaps. It slides over the curve of the ball between Kylo's teeth and rests against the plush, stretched curve of her bottom lip.

Kylo shakes, her body seizing in a tremor from top to toe. She makes a soft sound and squeezes Hux's hips.

Hux spits again and watches it hit the slick-shined surface of the ball. She runs her thumb over it, covering the thing from lip to lip with saliva -- with her cunt-wet fingers. Hux lifts herself and slides forward on her knees, flattening her palm against her mound and exposing her clit -- she eases herself down, splitting herself comfortably on Kylo's mouth -- on the gag -- Kylo's lips twitching against her -- the ball pressing against her body. She grinds her hips down as much as she dares, gasping at equal daring -- Kylo burying her face as close as she can.

Hux laughs, Kylo rubbing the tip of her nose against Hux's clit in a desperate, needly little gesture.

"You can breathe?"

Kylo nods. She tries to say something, made completely unintelligible by the gag and the gurgling and barrier of Hux's body. She rolls her eyes and nods again, meek.

Hux slides her hands under Kylo's head and laces her fingers together, tangling in the thick body of her hair. Kylo's chest rises and falls rapidly and hux lifts her head by fractions, gentle as can be.

Hux pumps her hips forward once -- twice -- in a short, controlled burst. Kylo's eyes water immediately, her forehead wrinkled in frustration. She breathes heavily through her nose, the steady warmth of it almost too much. Kylo squeezes Hux's waist again, gives her another little meek nod.

Hux sucks in the soft pouch of her belly, the better to watch Kylo, to keep her gaze, hold her attention.

Hux opens her mouth, a broken sound cracking in her throat. She fucks herself against Kylo's face -- stretched lips -- persistent nose -- smooth gag. She doesn't need much, just that bit to push herself over the precipice she's been teetering on.

Kylo's body shifts. She clenches her hands tighter, fingertips turning pink and nails shocking white against Hux. She curls in on herself, knees rising and pressing together just behind Hux. She makes a wet sound and squeezes her eyes shut. Frustrated tears stick her lashes together and cut clean tracks in the dramatic ruins of her smeared mascara.

Kylo opens her eyes and looks at Hux, filled with something heavy. Hux twitches her hips forward once -- twice -- quick flicks that send her tumbling into the velvety heat of climax.

Kylo moans against the gag -- against Hux -- when Hux pulls her hair and presses her face impossibly closer. She's still for a heartbeat and then she's patting Hux's waist, begging silently for release.

Shaking, Hux slumps onto the mattress. Kylo's fingers struggle for purchase against the strap of the gag.

"Here," Hux mumbles a little drunkenly. With clumsy hands she turns Kylo's head and unfastens the buckle. "Go slow."

Kylo's eyes roll back and she lets Hux wiggle the ball from between her teeth. Her jaw pops as she eases her mouth shut. Gaze unfocuses and glassy, she rubs her cheeks.

Static roars in Hux's ears and Kylo turns over, tucking herself against Hux's chest. Hux pets her for several minutes until she finds her voice again. "You should wash your face, sweet."

"Yeah," Kylo rasps against her throat. "Come with me?"

"In a minute."

Kylo rolls out of bed looking like a human-shaped puddle. She strips, abandoning her clothes on the floor, and makes her way down the hall.

Hux flops onto her back and looks down the length of her body. Her thighs are sticky, smeared with tacky saliva and her own come -- and Kylo, in watery grey clouds of mascara.

Hux needs a shower.

She needs another cigarette, too, but she can hear the gentle fall of water from down the hall and it is somehow the most tantalizing sound she's ever heard.

Kylo is in the sleek shower stall, the glass cloudy with steam. She's gasping, a hand braced against the door, and Hux feels like an intruder.

Hux steps back, hovering just outside the threshold, listening. Kylo's breathing is loud, echoing in the steamy chamber. Finally, she's quiet again. Hux approaches on quiet feet and eases the shower door open. The stall is comfortable enough for two, even with kylo's arms twisted above, trying to hook the detachable shower head back into place in the middle of the waterfall.

Kylo toward Hux with pursed lips. She draws her close and scrubs her thick fingers through Hux's hair, tipping her head toward the strongest of the stream. Hux holds on -- to Kylo, to reality -- resisting the draw of the singularity between them. She puts her hands on Kylo's hips, strokes the swell of her ass absently.

"I'm going to let them publish, as is. Without the poem."

"Are you sure?"

Kylo nods. "I'll come up with something better."

Hux doesn't doubt it.

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Kylo loses control and smashes dishes in the kitchen with angry enthusiasm.
> 
> Is this how publishing works? Probably not. Do I care? Not at all.
> 
> Please wash your sex toys before you use them. Dont go shoving things in mouths or other places straight out of the box.
> 
> Many many thanks to the group chat for listening to me flail. Idk if you want to be named but i appreciate the heck out of you.
> 
> And pls pls pls if you haven't yet, go check out [this brilliant, beautiful painting hedge did of kylo in the bath from 'kore'](https://mobile.twitter.com/st_hedge/status/1104124918428549120) AND AND AND [this one by ydnsm oh my god ](https://mobile.twitter.com/ydnsm1/status/1109501460067213312)


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